


Those Who Fought To Return

by GrandDukeForever



Series: They Came Home Warriors [2]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Feelings, Feels, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Military Homophobia, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Torture, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 01:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrandDukeForever/pseuds/GrandDukeForever
Summary: He watched the way that Collins nervously licked his lips, in the way he so often did, and it was now driving the older man quite mad.Finally, Farrier confessed."You understand, then, how I feel,"he'd said, in that rather blunt and plain way that was always his."Towards you."Then when Collins turned his head, Farrier was quick to put his walls up; steeling himself for what he was sure would eventually be inevitable rejection.  Still, there was something there in those eyes, a mild flicker, though Farrier couldn't tell.  It made him wonder.  The man reached out before he could stop himself.When Collins' breath hitched, Farrier found that he dared.  He whispered."Come away with me."It was a proposition.  A clear one, if Collins sharp enough in his social cues as he was with his flying.He was surprised at how soon the other man responded, not skipping a beat."I'd go away with you anywhere."Acceptance.  There would be no turning back now, Farrier decided.





	1. Act I: The Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imnotacoffeedrinker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotacoffeedrinker/gifts), [Lazeleh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazeleh/gifts), [jienk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jienk/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collins became and then just was his anchor; the one Farrier knew who would always get him through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is literally for imnotacoffeedrinker, Schw0099 (the anon), Lazeleh, and jienk, all of which have inspired me to write this sequel/side-storyish thing, because they each implied wanting more in the comments they left. Not sure which this really falls under.
> 
> To all those who left encouraging notes and/or provided wonderful feedback on the last one, thanks so much once again! I hope that this fic is just as enjoyable for you all as the last one. Also, FYI, some **_very_ important notes about this fic and the previous one, at the bottom.** Please read them, if you get the chance, as it will explain a lot of things about how this chapter was written!

The truth was, Farrier didn't really have a type, before Collins.  In fact, he hadn't lent much thought to the subject of relationships all that much at all, even before joining up with the RAF.  For him, all that mattered at the time was taking on his father's mantle as a pilot for His Majesty's Royal Air Force, and making his father proud in doing so.  There hadn't been anything else on his radar.

Then, he'd run into a blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty in a hallway, on his way back from mess.  There was a sort of nervous energy about the other man— _clearly younger_ , Farrier noted—although the older pilot got the sense that the distance was greater between them in experience as opposed to number of years.  The unnamed man was far too fresh faced to be someone well seasoned in their line of work, and Farrier had to admit that he found himself wondering a little about him, like _who he was_ and other little details about this and that.  As to why, well, he hadn't the foggiest clue about that. 

Somehow they'd gotten into a conversation, and both men had introduced themselves.  _James Earl Collins_ , Farrier had mused over, shortly after the other man had said it.  A rather elegant name, if he did say so himself.  He quite liked it. 

Farrier told the other man his own name, and then fished around a bit for an age.  The blonde pilot easily gave it.  _Nineteen_ , the younger man told him.  Born in 1919 then, or somewhere around there, Farrier figured, if the year was now 1938, which it was.  So the boy was a tad younger than he expected, but the difference that made to Farrier was none.  Give him just a year, and the other would have caught up to him soon enough, insofar as being in their twenties.

The boy most certainly seemed eager to get to know him, to _become more familiar_ , Farrier thought, when Collins began to contemplate what kind of nickname he could refer to the older man by.  Farrier couldn't help cringing at the lot of them, _especially_ when Collins got down to the last two suggestions.  The mutual inquiry about age was far more merciful, in comparison.  Still, as intriguing as this young man was, Farrier at the time felt he couldn't spare the blonde a moment longer.  For fear that, instead of performing his duties, he would instead shirk them and end up talking to this younger pilot, Collins, for hours.

He hadn't been ignoring the blonde that day, when Collins called after him as he'd brushed his way past and continued down the hall.  No, he'd merely been distracted by the thought occurring to him that he couldn't remember the last time he'd ever really wanted to talk to anyone for nearly that long at all.

* * *

Target practice had been another thing.  When one of Farrier's superiors had taken him aside and tasked him with it—with being the one to essentially be a sparring partner of sorts with Collins, just in the sky—the older man took no issue with it.  In fact, it was even to his own mild surprise that Farrier found that he was actually _anticipating_ seeing the blonde man again, to assess the younger pilot's skills for himself.  Of course, Collins didn't know this himself, but there were rumors circulating around about him; how Collins had sharp instincts, especially for a rookie, and how he could probably fly circles around Farrier.  The latter statement, much to Farrier's dismay, had come from one of his comrades from his flight training days, Francis Elliott Martin.  The man was practically a jokester by trade, and a formidable pilot every other hour of the day, especially when one needed him most, so Farrier was generally inclined to forgive him.  This though, this was ridiculous.

Youth had to have been the reason—Farrier had surmised—for the sunny lad's cheeky smile.  And there was his enthusiasm in throwing down his gauntlet of challenge.  There was something just too electric about the boy, for Farrier to really have been any kind of annoyed with it.  He'd simply grunted at the blonde in response, and soon made his way, up in the air.

The boy wasn't too awkward in his flight patterns, but he most certainly was terrible at guessing at Farrier's movements.  Or at least, so it was that Farrier had thought, at first.  Until after he'd landed, of course, and good old "Frank" Martin all too gleefully pointed out that the boy had managed to land a few painted bullets on the target tug aircraft that he'd just manned. 

And there was something about the way the boy just _looked at him_ , so hopeful and with bright eyes, that Farrier felt the need to walk away from him then; lest he get sucked in.  The truth was, he wasn't sure if he'd wanted to, at the time.  It was his colleague, of course, who'd known better.

Martin approached Farrier later on that day, clapping a hand on the other man's shoulder and settling down in a seated position beside him.  "Kid's got a knack for it, hasn't he?"

"Hm," Farrier grunted, which they both knew was his-speak for _yes, but I'll be damned if I say something out loud about it_.

Martin chuckled.  " _Come on_.  Admit it, old chap," he said, grinning.  "It's a bit of fun, isn't it?  To go up against someone like that—such raw talent."

"He's a natural flier, for certain," Farrier finally conceded some.  "But it'll take more'n that, in the field."

"Mm.  God forbid," Martin said, expression darkening.  "The world's already been through one."

He meant about war.  Farrier shook his head.

"War's already a comin', mate," the man said dryly to his fellow pilot.  "Especially since that Hitler got himself into power, there's been a great deal of civil unrest in the world."

"Don't say that, man."

"You know that it's true," said Farrier.  "Germany went and made an alliance with Italy and Japan nearly three years ago, now.  That man has a thirst in his eyes, for power.  It's only a matter of time."

"You're quite the morbid fellow."

"A soldier's instincts."

"Yeah, yeah.  Your father was a flier in the First World War an' all that," Martin muttered.  "As if we don't know you come from a line.  So.  You're worried about how the kid will survive, then."

"Men younger than him have laid down their lives for King and Country," Farrier said.  "But I've never seen eyes quite as bright as his."

"You find him quite naïve?" Martin asked.

"I think he could stand to improve his aim," Farrier said, getting up from where he was sitting and began dusting himself off.  "An' maybe smooth out his flight patterns."

No one would ever be able to read Farrier with quite the same accuracy and assuredness as Collins would later, but Martin had known the man long enough by now to at least be able to understand _some_ things.  Acknowledging and accepting that Farrier was the type of man who communicated almost entirely through his actions as opposed to using his words was only the first step.  After that, it was knowing the right manner of questions to ask to help clarify, if one was unsure.  Martin quirked up a brow.

"You've got an idea, then?" he asked.  "For all that?"

"Or _something_..." Farrier muttered just before he turned on his heels and began to walk off.  "I'll see you again in the morning, eh?"

"Bright and early, my friend," Martin replied, giving the man a short wave, which he received back.  "Bright and early."

* * *

 _The boy looked surprised_ , Farrier noted, upon seeing him again, shortly thereafter that first practice set.  And even if he doubted his interpretation of the other man's expression, the blonde said as much.

_"Didn't think you were all that interested in me."_

Farrier blinked.  All right.  So, perhaps not quite _that_.  The man didn't know why his just seconds before steady heartbeat seemed to pick up the pace a little; had the feeling like maybe he'd been caught out.  _Had he been caught out?_   He had to wonder.

He moistened his lips.  "...what?" he had asked the other man carefully.

The younger man didn't seem to notice his uncharacteristic state of nervousness.  "As a flight partner," he said, and for some reason Farrier felt himself wash over with relief.

The boy seemed a little confused by this, but he paid it little mind.  "Ah," he'd said in reply, and just why his heart was fluttering, the man had no idea.  "Well...you _did_ manage to land a couple rounds on me the last time."

"It was more like five, I recall," Collins said, blue-green eyes set with a sparkle, and Farrier quipped back before he could stop himself.

"Beginner's luck, I'm sure.  Though...I suppose I'll admit to you perhaps having left quite a bit of an impression on me."

And by _George_ , the minute he'd said it, that's when Farrier realized something really important.  Something had gone and awakened within him, much in the way like an ember catching onto a piece of fabric or some wood, and then bursting into flame.  Farrier couldn't say that he knew what love was, but he most certainly could talk about learning what it was like to have some _feelings_ , today. 

It was a strange thing, to realize that for the rest of their conversation, he was _flirting_.  It didn't help that the younger man seemed to be taking things in stride— _or was he reciprocating?_   Honestly, Farrier couldn't tell. 

"Well, prepare to be proven wrong again," the other man had challenged.

And it was a bit cheeky, but Farrier just couldn't help himself.  Perhaps in his youth, the boy brought out the same in _him_.  Farrier winked.

"Catch me if you can, Stan," he'd said, before practically skipping to his aircraft, because he could have _sworn_ that he'd made the other man grow pink. 

Giddy as he was, however, the man was in a mode of full-on concentration, once he'd taken off in the air.  And he was impressed how, this being only the second time they were together in the skies, it seemed Collins had studied him carefully enough in their last bout, or something to that degree, because this time proved a bit more of a challenge.  Farrier couldn't shake him quite as easily as he had before.

He muttered curses under his breath when he heard the landing of several paint pellets.  As annoyed as he was by this, however, the angelic sound of the other man's laughter was the purest of music to his ears.

_"How's **that** for beginner's luck then, **old man**?"_

Farrier had to snort softly at that.  The boy was so tempting, he found.  So _alluring_.  He wanted more.

Farrier pushed his face mask on.  "Don't get cocky there now, boyo," he'd quipped.  "I'll have you yet."

It was a loaded promise, of course.  The other man didn't have a way of knowing that though; however.  At least, not as of yet.

 _"Come catch me if you can, Stan,"_ the boy taunted.

 _Oh_ , Farrier thought to himself as he made for a turn, aiming to come at the boy from behind.  _If only he knew_.

* * *

 _September 25, 1939_.  War had already been declared, early on, that month.  In that time since then, he'd taken to the air, at least twelve times.  Lost comrades.  Nearly lost his own head, getting shot at.  The nightmares were awful.  There was no one to save him from them.

Then he'd learned, that Collins was set to go airborne with a team.  Farrier cut in.

"I'll take the boy," he had said, his tone having left no room for argument, and his superiors not keen on pissing off a man of his caliber, of his skill, with a head filled with trauma.  He'd be a friend to them, so long as they gave in to some of his demands, and they'd give into his demands so long as they were reasonable.  This was considered reasonable.  "We've flown together enough, enough times to know that we're best suited for each other, alongside in combat.  It'll be his flight, sir, in a time of war.  Let me take him."

There was accord.  Collins was now twenty, but really, he was still so very young.  _He was shivering_ , Farrier thought, perhaps more out of fear than nervous anticipation.  Farrier sought to comfort him, which was why he placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder, in hopes to steady him. 

"You alright there, Collins?" he'd asked.

Softly.  Gently.  He didn't want the boy to be even more spooked than he already was.

Collins' response had been rather tight.  "Right," he'd said, barely nodding, face pale.  "Fine."

Farrier knew he wasn't fine.  He gave the shoulder a light squeeze.

"Don't be nervous now, mate," he had said, then advised the other man.  "Just remember to keep your wits about you, and don't forget to keep checking up on what's behind."

Collins was awful about that, Farrier had noticed in him during their practices.  He could be, at times, easily distracted.  That was the one unsettling thing Farrier found about the other man's flying, and he wondered if the blonde pilot's youth might have had something to do with it.  His innocence, in facing hard times like these.  Farrier knew that the boy's family wasn't filled with generations of proud soldiers, like his. 

"Keep your wits about you," he'd repeated.  "And Godspeed."

 _"Godspeed,"_ came the faint echo, and Farrier knew then that he'd have to keep an extra close eye on the lad as they fought; the boy appeared to be that rattled.

Farrier had roared like a lion, when they'd come back from that firefight.  Deep down, he knew he was being irrational—after all, the boy was _safe_ —but _saints alive_ he was pissed, and rightfully so, he imagined.  A child shouldn't be up in the air, fighting, if he couldn't handle his business like a man.  Though, he didn't _really_ think that Collins was that incapable, however.  He was just very hopping mad.  The cut he noticed on the blonde pilot's cheek didn't seem to help matters. 

Someone made the mistake of trying to talk his rage down.  There had been a tousle.  Eventually starting to cool down a bit, Farrier had settled down a bit, but only just a tad.  The right amount to allow himself to get pushed and shoved away, without too much trouble.

* * *

The next time they were in combat and flight, things admittedly went much more smooth.  Farrier heard their wing leader's panic before he'd spotted the problem for himself.  An enemy plane was tailing their comrade's close. 

_"Can't...seem to shake..."_

_"Don't worry, I've got him."_

And Collins had, Farrier was proud to note.  The boy seemed to have his head more in the game, this time around.  Farrier had offered to drink with him, after they'd landed.  It was a time where they'd had a bit of that kind of luxury left, and still could. 

"Sure," Collins had said, with a small smile and a nod as he started following Farrier.  "Sounds splendid."

They'd drunk enough that night to be buzzed, but not piss-roaring drunk.  Collins might have seemed a little flirtatious to Farrier, tempting him.  Farrier, in turn, might have gotten a bit more touchy with the younger man than usual.  Collins either didn't notice, or didn't seem to mind.  They'd stumbled back to the barracks.

"And tomorrow...we'll be at it again," Farrier had mumbled, his face rather close to the blonde's at the time.  "And the day after that, and again, and again..."

Collins laughed.  " _Shh_..." he'd said, placing a finger to Farrier's lips, and the older man had a sudden, overwhelming urge to take the digit in his mouth and circle his tongue around it.  "To bed with you, _old man_."

Farrier nearly took the boy with him, but he wasn't nearly that drunk, only that much in want.  The realization of this was what sobered him.  He'd nodded then, most of the light and humor in his eyes gone.

"Mmhmm..." he'd murmured.  "And so, here I go, then."

And whether on purpose or a mistake, Farrier couldn't be for certain, but it didn't change the single spark he felt pass betwixt them, when Collins' hand slid down the back of his arm.  When the younger man's fingertips, just barely brushed along the inside of his palm.  Farrier knew for sure he was in trouble then, for he'd wanted to suddenly grasp the blonde's hand and entwine their fingers; push the boy up against the wall and crush together their lips. 

Instead, he'd gone and done the responsible thing, and left his youthful protégé behind him, and went off to his bed.  Of course missing that look of breathlessness on the other man's face, that would have been the real start of his own undoing then, had he captured it.

* * *

There was one time they flew, where everything just seemed to go terribly.  First, they'd lost their squadron leader, seemingly in a matter of minutes.  Then, just as Farrier was taking the initiative and giving orders—his age and level of experience often making him the most reasonable go-to choice after a thing like that, and no one really had a complaint, for they trusted him—he felt several bullets rip right through him.  And as his plane began to go down, Farrier grimaced and placed a hand over his abdomen.  He'd been sloppy, apparently, and could think of no reasonable excuse as to how he could have let this happen.  Collins would have told him he was being too hard on himself, as always, but Farrier had his damned pride. 

His headset crackled to life, and Collins' worried voice, though far away as it seemed, at that time, soon filled his ears.  _"Farrier!  Farrier!  Are you there?!"_

Farrier drew his hand away then, and cursed to himself softly at the sight of it, being covered in blood.  "Oh bollocks..." he muttered to himself, not realizing that Collins heard him as he tried to focus on landing his plane safely on the ground.

He didn't remember actually being successful, in that regard, but he figured that he must have been, because the next thing he knew, his eyes were blinking open and his eyes were adjusting to bright lights and a white ceiling.  Squinting, Farrier managed to turn his head just enough so he could make out who was the figure that he sensed right beside him.  Relief flooded him immediately upon recognizing the individual to be Collins; it meant that sometime after he'd gone down, he'd been saved.  Either that, or this was heaven. 

"Col...lins..." he'd managed to croak.

He would have chuckled at the way the man had jolted awake, if he'd been in less pain.  When the blonde pilot hovered over him, Farrier had wanted so desperately to reach up a hand, maybe brush it along the younger man's cheek.  The boy looked just so worried about him—he was moved by this.

"Yes," Collins' voice was quiet, soft.  "I'm here...I'm here."

Farrier squeezed his eyes shut, and in trying to adjust his position, he groaned at the soreness he felt.  His ears were ringing a little, and his eyes were still feeling a bit sensitive.

"How...how long?" he'd asked.

"Three days," came the reply.

 _Three days_ , Farrier mused to himself.  He wondered how much he'd missed, since then.  Collins answered the remainder of his unspoken questions for him.

"You took a few shots to the abdomen, but they went clean through.  You're a lucky bastard, you know that?"

Farrier couldn't help but to chuckle a little at that, despite it paining him to do something as simple as laughing.  Calling him a "damn lucky bastard" was one of Collins' affectionate phrases for him, Farrier had come to learn, though he supposed there was a bit of truth to those words.  He had survived a great number of things already, and the Second World War had only just begun. 

"The doctors say you could be grounded a few months," he listened to Collins go on.  "God, I don't know what I would have done if you'd...or if I had to leave before you woke up.  They're sending me out again in a few days..."

That caught his attention.  Farrier had tried to turn towards the younger man more fully, but he only managed to turn his head towards him, frowning.

"Wha—what...?"

"Yeah..." Collins had replied with a nod.  "War's still going, you know?  They need pilots..."

 _Well_ , Farrier thought to himself.  "I'll...I'll be damned," he did end up saying aloud.

 _He'd be damned if he wasn't there alongside him_ , Farrier felt about this one.  _He'd be damned if he wasn't there, up in the air right with the other man, to make sure he was protected_. 

Then the conversation had taken a bit of an unexpected turn.  It took the older man a few seconds to process that Collins was fishing for his relationship status, and suddenly, everything seemed to _be_ a little bit more bearable for Farrier.  The pain in his body was still there, of course, but there was a tingling that coursed through him then, and his heart felt aflutter. 

 _No girl_ , they'd confirmed.  _For either of them_.  This was, at least for Farrier, some happy news indeed.  Now he just had to figure out if the other man felt the same way about him.  _Though, perhaps even before that_ , Farrier had thought to himself, soberly, _he should probably consider whether this was the right move he was making, to want to hold not only a man, but someone who was so much younger than him_.  It wasn't because Farrier the boy was too young for him to love, or anything quite like that.  Rather, Farrier was more concerned that perhaps the boy might _find him_ _too old_ , and perhaps be more wary of him.

Then, hope grew.  The man made an offer to let his loved ones know, if something ever were to happen to him.  God forbid and all that, of course.  Farrier couldn't help but to laugh; not because he knew the RAF would do it–he told the boy was much—but more so because this meant to him that the boy was just as taken with him as he was with Collins.  How he was sure the other man's sentence hadn't meant something more generic was the same way each of them knew what the other man was saying, up in the air, even without use of their communications system. 

Farrier would be careful, then.  Give the lad a few more chances, an opportunity to decide for himself whether or not this side of things for them was worth pursuing any further.  There were risks, after all.  Both the military and society in general frowned upon these emotions of a kind, between men.  And for all he knew, Collins was yet to even be aware of himself, then.  

Still, in a moment of greed, Farrier wished to touch him, and it delighted him to see the way that Collins reacted.  The way the blonde pilot seemed to just _know_.  When Collins shyly placed his hand atop Farrier's, the older man wasted not a second for the chance to indulge himself, and grasped a few of the other man's fingers.  A current seemed to run through them again; and Farrier suddenly wanted more than just _to look_ , when Collins bit his lower lip.  There was a flash of hunger that had shone through Farrier's eyes; a primal emotion he quickly placed in check.  He wasn't even sure the younger man was even experienced enough in general, to have known what such a look meant, but he still had enough of a mind to place such sentiments behind a stoic mask, just in case.

The spell between them, and the hush, broke off briefly, when the younger man pulled apart from him, offering to go fetch a doctor.  Farrier agreed and let him go, though all the while, all he could think of as he watched the blonde man's retreating backside were the thoughts of _come back, come back,_ and  _oh, come back_.  The boy was truly making him into such a sorry sap.

He hadn't recovered as quickly as he would have liked, and although Farrier had pushed and pulled, even cursed his body, it just simply hadn't been enough.  And in several days time, he was given no choice other than to stay back and watch as Collins prepared to take on the treacherous skies without him.

 _"I won't be there,"_ Farrier had murmured, suddenly wishing so desperately that they'd been in a place where he could appropriately place a hand around the younger man's neck; press their foreheads together.

His heart clenched at the way the other so thinly smiled, no doubt just as nervous to be without Farrier.  His response was simple.

_"I know."_

_"You have to come back,"_ Farrier had made him promise.

Collins did.  Farrier had given the blonde pilot's shoulder a light squeeze.

_"I'm holding you to that."_

And to his great relief, hours later—though the passage of time had felt like _years_ to Farrier—Collins did return to him, although he did look a bit shaken.  This had the older man concerned and wondering what the younger one might have seen.  He approached him, dared to place a gentle hand on the younger man's neck.  Collins let him break the barrier; didn't fight him.

"You did all right..." Farrier murmured, knowing the boy needed comfort, but at a loss as to how to give him anything better than this.  "You fought bravely, soldier."

And even though Collins had not made a sound that night, apart from his tossing and turning, Farrier had been sure to keep eyes on him.  So that when he finally woke in terror, and in a cold sweat, the man was already there, having been ready to be at his side there, much in the manner that the younger man had been, when Farrier had been recuperating from his wounds.  He'd known the nightmares would come for the boy soon enough, and he didn't want Collins to be alone as he himself had been. 

 _"Come with me,"_ Farrier had whispered to him.  _"Let's get you some fresh air."_

Collins, of course, with his unwavering trust in the older man, had easily complied.  Eventually finding themselves with their backs against a way, Farrier watched Collins, carefully.

 _"You'll learn to cope,"_ Farrier had said to Collins eventually, speaking from experience, the truth.  _"In a manner of time."_

At first, it seemed, that Collins needed comfort over having seen the deaths of his fellow comrades of the air, being picked out like fish in a barrel in the sky.  Farrier soon came to learn, however, upon Collins admitting as much to him, that those dreams—nay—those _night terrors_ that had roused him, held none other than concerns over _him_ as the focus.  His breath hitched at that realization.  He watched the way that Collins nervously licked his lips, in the way he so often did, and it was now driving the older man quite mad. 

Finally, Farrier confessed.  _"You understand, then, how I feel,"_ he'd said, in that rather blunt and plain way that was always his.  _"Towards you."_

Then when Collins turned his head, Farrier was quick to put his walls up; steeling himself for what he was sure would eventually be inevitable rejection.  Still, there was something there in those eyes, a mild flicker, though Farrier couldn't tell.  It made him _wonder_.  The man reached out before he could stop himself. 

When Collins' breath hitched, Farrier found that he _dared_.  He whispered.

_"Come away with me."_

It was a proposition.  A clear one, if Collins sharp enough in his social cues as he was with his flying. 

He was surprised at how soon the other man responded, not skipping a beat.  _"I'd go away with you anywhere."_

Acceptance.  There would be no turning back now, Farrier decided.  He'd given Collins plenty of opportunity for an out, and the boy was still here beside him.  Farrier whisked him a way to a place—not as glamorous as he would have liked, in treating his new and sweet darling to their first time under the sheets, so to speak—but it was a fair enough place for a lay, given their current circumstances and what they had at their disposal.  Collins seemed to agree.  If his willing actions that followed soon afterward were anything to go by, at least.

Neither man really had much experience in the bedding department—which, in Farrier's case, he figured was quite laughable, given his current age—but both men had heard enough stories.  Had enough imagination to get a sense of knowing just what to do.  And though there was a period where Collins experienced quite a bit of discomfort—Farrier, on his part, was muttering soft curses under his breath, mixed in with several apologies that made the younger man laugh and tease him till the older pilot was quite red in the face—they'd eventually slipped into some sort of awkward rhythm, which had eventually smoothed out and rewarded both to their mutual satisfaction, much in the way their professional dynamic had changed, as pilots. 

Farrier had already known, of course, long before their first time together, that once was not going to be enough—never going to be enough—and of course Collins, being at the point he was in his youth, he had still a strong libido that also would not be so easily satiated.  And then Farrier had given Collins permission to call him by a name he'd reserved for few others, and the blonde pilot gave him much of the same, with _Jim_.  Such exchanged words had only reignited their earlier heated passion.

They were quick and dirty about it, at least, for their second go round.  Already perfecting the way they went about their movements, each knowing well without doubt what it was the other wanted; they'd been well-practiced in reading each other well, after all, as comrades in arms. 

And they continued on, after that—for days, weeks, and months after.  At first, despite the mutual attraction, Collins had been more shy about it, careful.  Farrier hadn't minded being the one to take the lead.  It was no different from the way he'd take charge sometimes when they flew, after all, it was almost a second nature built into him. 

* * *

At mess, sometimes, Collins and Farrier would press their shoes together, toe to toe.  Sometimes they'd even be a little more daring than this—Farrier, in particular, would sometimes quietly hook their ankles.  It being all under the tables, quite literally, no one really seemed to pick up on this.  Either that, or they turned a blind eye because they liked the lads.  Farrier had gotten quite a few other RAF pilots out of some tight spots, even with his primary concern always being Collins and his safety, and the blonde pilot was just as quick to save his fellow airmen when he could. 

At night, the pair would often sneak out from their cots.  On days when people caught them on their way, the men would make as if they were itching for a smoke break, or some other flimsy excuse.  Most of the times, people would accept them for what they were, and would soon be on their way.  Only maybe once or twice were they met by a stern commander or commodore, and then they would be sent back to their bunks without pity. 

Times like these though, when they were successful, Farrier lived for.  He just adored Collins with every fiber of his being.

In the back of some weapons truck, one of their preferred places to hide, as it was easier to stay hidden due to all the coverage, Farrier was fervently making out with Collins.  He had the younger man on his lap, and the blonde was panting through his nose as he ground against Farrier, whimpering softly into the older man's mouth as their tongues warred against each other.  Farrier's rough hands slid upward along the blonde pilot's sides; the clothes above the man's torso having already been shed, as were the rest of them.  Farrier too, was fully naked as well, reveling in the warmth of skin against skin.  He chuckled against Collins' lips when they broke apart, and the younger man gasped, barely biting back most of his moan as Farrier ran both his thumbs over the other man's nipples, feeling the hardness of the nubs beneath them. 

He was further amused by the way the blonde seemed to move so impatiently, so corrupted now, he was, compared to the way he'd been before Farrier had finally decided to stop dallying about and _captured him_.  The older man grunted when Collins hissed, his ass swallowing Farrier's hardness up, and making them both feel quite whole.  They hadn't done a position quite like this before, with Farrier's hands on the younger man's buttocks, helping Collins grind against him, the blonde facing him, and his wrists crossed behind the older man's neck.  It was quite lewd, and Farrier found that he quite liked this.  He also couldn't help but to tease his little gem.

"Oh, _pet_..." he murmured, at first necking the other, nipping playfully at the flesh—though careful not to leave any marks, because that wouldn't have done well for either of them at all.  They wouldn't have been able to properly explain that way.  Farrier than caught the other man's lower lip between his teeth as he murmured.  "You move quite so deliciously, love.  I could have you for breakfast."

"You've already had me for breakfast..." Collins spat, though there was no heat behind it, only mirth, though his cheeks indeed were rather flush.  From embarrassment or from the heat of sex, Farrier couldn't tell.  Not that it mattered.  The younger man went on.  "And for lunch, and for dinner..."

"And now I shall have you for dessert...!" Farrier declared, albeit softly, as he brought a hand down and stroked. 

He reveled in the way Collins arched his back; blonde locks messy, damp with sweat.  Farrier marveled at the way several strands matted against the younger man's face, which held an expression that was thick with concentration.  He chuckled softly.

"You're in need of a haircut, darling," he drawled.

" _Hn_ ," Collins grunted, clearly not caring.  " _Oh_...!"

Farrier knew the younger man was close, then.  That "oh" was always one of the blonde pilot's most obvious tells.  The older man grinned.  He brought his lips close to the other man's ear, gently teething at the man's sensitive earlobe, teasing.

"Tell me what you need, _Jim_ ," he whispered, and he'd nearly thrown his head back and _laughed_ when the boy did it, the blonde pilot had climaxed to the sound of his own name spoken by none other than himself, Farrier. 

It was a glorious thing.  The older man held Collins close, as he continued to rock himself to his own climax, while the younger man rested against him, flushed and panting softly.  It didn't take Farrier long to follow.

"Saints alive..." Farrier eventually murmured, as his manhood was slowly shrinking inside, having been satisfied with its claim within the other.  He pressed a butterfly of kisses against the other man's cheek.  "You, my darling, will always be my undoing."

"And you, mine..." Collins tiredly confessed, eyes fluttering.

Farrier was able to clean them both up and dressed them.  Had the other been a dame, he would have carried Collins back to his proper bed if he could.

* * *

Then the date was June 4, 1940.  Farrier was aged now, twenty-eight, and Collins, twenty-one.  They were dispatched with one wing commander, and they were to try their best to hold their own against the Axis' air forces over Dunkirk.  It was a desperate situation for them all, to be sure.

 _"Now you be safe out there,"_ Farrier had said, sometime after he'd managed to pull Collins successfully aside in a place where they were, for the briefest of moments, secluded, and away from prying eyes. 

Farrier had kissed him.  Ran a thumb gently beneath the blonde pilot's lower lip.  Collins, in turn, had kissed him back, and run his fingers gently through the hair on the back of the older man's head.  Such secretive, and affectionate gestures had become quite customary between the two. 

 _"And you as well,"_ Collins had said.

 _"You come back to me, all right?"_ Farrier had demanded, kissing his blonde aerial knight once more, whom he found rather dashing.  _"You come back to me in one piece, and don't you worry about a thing on my end.  You know I can very well take care of myself."_

 _"I know..."_ Collins had whispered with a soft sigh, returning the older man's affections with a light kiss of his own.  It was better than what they'd had between them to start, but it was still—and always would be—never quite enough.  Collins' oath to him, however, _was_ enough to give Farrier a bit of peace of mind before their flight.  _"I will.  I promise."_

Unspoken when the words of _I love you_ and _I love you back_.  _Forever, and ever, and_ ever.  Until death.Perhaps even beyond.

* * *

Farrier couldn't explain the calm that had come over him.  Perhaps it was adrenaline, or maybe he was even a little shell shocked.  Maybe it was the false sense of completion that had come with taking down that last fighter.  In the years after, Farrier would tell people the story that _they_ most wanted to hear; how he'd found it in him to shoot that last Axis fighter plane down, for King and Country, and not because he was worried the man might take his beloved Collins _out_.  Collins, who he'd seen fall into the ocean.  Whom at first he'd worried over whether or not the younger man had been _alive_ , because when Farrier called for him, the other man _hadn't answered_ , but that fear had been assuaged when he saw Collins' hand wave up at him from down below, presumably to let him know that _everything was all right_ , that _he was fine_ , and to _carry on, as you were, Farrier, and shoot that last Axis bastard out from the sky_.  And so, upon his one true love's bidding, he went and _did_ just that.

Then, shortly thereafter, his engine had stalled, and he was falling.  At first, he was concerned that the plane would crash land on the sections of beach where members of Allied forces were still standing.  Farrier had certainly hoped not, because he would have been absolutely helpless to stop it.  Then, it became clear he was going to a more secluded section of the beach.  This was promising.  Until.

Until he realized, that soon he and his Spitfire were going to go outside the safety of the already well and exhausted Allied protective borders, and he was soon flying—no, _falling_ —into Axis dominated territory.  Though surprisingly, instead of panic, the man's soldier's instincts kicked in.  At the last best second, Farrier remembered himself—he could practically _hear_ Collins' voice lecturing him, to _keep his wits about him_ , as the man had often lectured the blonde pilot himself, in times past.  So he pumped out his wheels, just barely in the nick of time, and made for a bumpy landing.

And, even as he got out of the aircraft and made to torch it, his mind was, in parallel, in all-consuming fire with Collins.  Farrier's thoughts were full of the blonde pilot as he watched the Spitfire _burn, and burn, and burn_.  He still felt not an ounce of panic, even as he could see a band of Axis troops coming towards him over the horizon. 

 _Wait for me until I return, love_ , was the last clear thought that he'd had, just as he was being surrounded.  Shortly thereafter, being taken into custody by enemy forces.  Continuing to think to himself, as they made him march.  _Wait for me, my darling, until the very last_.

It was all more of a prayer, really.  He didn't expect the other man to return him a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might not be as quick as the first one, because that one I had thought up of in a day with just a page full of notes (which is _very_ atypical, for me). This time, I have a less concrete picture—usually when I'm writing, it's just transcribing the fanfic movie or TV-series that's already playing in my head—but this time, it's like writing the screenplay from scratch. So, we'll see how it goes. Hopefully this won't be the case where I write something where readers wish I hadn't tried for a sequel, thinking that the other fic was perfect as a standalone, and as it is. Crossing my fingers here!
> 
>  **Also, this is a bit depressing to admit, but apparently I completely fucked up with some numbers on the first fic, so I had to go back and fix them.** SIGH. The author's notes over there explain it somewhat, but basically, what that means here is that Collins should have been _nineteen_ first, when he and Farrier first met—I have in my had that Collins was born in 1919, while Farrier was born in 1912—which means in _1940_ was when he should have been twenty-one, and Farrier would have been twenty-eight. 
> 
> The problem was, I knew that I wanted Collins to be twenty-one at some point, but I kept flipping around where in the chapters I wanted him to be this while I was writing this fic on a whim (not expecting it to get the wonderful responses it received AT ALL, by the way, I just had the idea stuck in my head and it just needed to _get out_ , so I did). So somewhere along the way, I somehow messed up the timing of when he'd be that age. 
> 
> Needless to say, I believe that it's all been fixed—and hence why this chapter is entitled "The Boy," because my subconscious is sadistic and mean and wants to give some kind of homage to this, this _pure debacle_ I created for myself. And really, _seriously_ , eff my life. It's mistakes like these that make me have those brief irrational instances where I seriously contemplate giving up writing as a hobby. Lol. Don't worry, I got over it though. I know life moves on. 
> 
> In the meantime, I look forward to seeing what you all think about this one, while I work on the next bit. Also, if anyone has any prompts regarding these two characters, feel free to leave those in the comments as well. I can't make any promises, of course, but at the very least I can read through them and see if the idea is something that I can reasonably do justice. I sincerely love it when it seems I can connect with readers so fast, and then all I find myself wanting to do is just give back and back and back. Hahaha.


	2. Act II: The Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memory of each other was what kept them both sane; one in time of separation, while the other lay in captivity.

There was a loud _crack_ —and Farrier knew at once that he'd broken something, even before the excruciating pain had set in.  Farrier then internally cursed at _those Axis bastards_. 

_"Eh?  What was that?"_

When Farrier turned his head, there was Collins.   _A dream then_ , Farrier knew.   _And a welcome one_.  That last hit must have knocked him unconscious.  He wondered, only briefly, if he'd live to see the morrow.  He let that thought flitter, and soon brought his attention back towards the scene that felt more in front of him.

It took him a moment for his mind to catch up; to place where this scene had been from.  It didn't take him long.  Farrier soon remembered.

* * *

The date had been December 15, 1939.  They'd just gotten word of the most recent major naval conflict, the first of its kind during the Second World War, in fact.  The Battle of the River Plate.  In a few days time, Farrier and Collins would be deployed for what would later would later be known as the Battle of the Heligoland Bight.  A few of those pilots who'd go out there with them would not be coming back.  Collins and Farrier would be among the lucky ones.  The atmosphere at that time, on base, was quite tense; all the pilots around them were getting understandably nervous, themselves included.  Neither of the men though, of course, would readily admit to this. 

Farrier liked to deal with such levels of anxiety, at times, by making a light comment or two.  "About ten days till Christmas, innit?" he said while looking over at Collins, who seemed a bit spaced out and distracted.

That seemed to happen with him a lot, these days.  It was all Farrier could do to make sure the younger man's inner light kept shining brightly as opposed to fading away, like his had been before Collins had come into his life.  The blonde pilot's boots were still flat against the floor as he turned in place, raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Eh?  What was that?" the blonde pilot asked.

Farrier laughed.  "Ten days," he repeated.  "Till Christmas, I said."

Collins blinked, still clearly not quite understanding what the older man was getting at.  "Oh," he said simply.

Farrier had to wonder sometimes, at just how many different ways the younger man was able to say—what the older pilot liked to refer to as, jokingly—one of the blonde's most favorite words.  His lips quirked upward slightly in a small smile.

"Thought perhaps you might like something?" Farrier murmured.  "Maybe a night out on the town."

Collins had scrunched his nose a bit, then.  "We're in the middle of a _world war_ , Hugh," the younger man said, reprimanding the other softly, so only Farrier could hear the name he was privately called.  "You're usually the more sensible one between us—you know verily well that we have no time for a holiday."

Hands in his pockets, Farrier moved closer to the other man.  There was a bit of a casual lean to him, in the way that he stood. 

"Maybe they'll call a ceasefire, just for the holidays," Farrier said, raising his eyebrows slightly, to show he was being rather light about it.

That got a crack of a smile from Collins, despite the blonde not wanting to do this, feeling that such emotion was a little inappropriate, given their current situation at base.  The look in his eyes though, was fond in the way that they regarded Farrier, though he did his best to show disapproval of the other man's antics by shaking his head.

"You're wrong for that one, you know," Collins said, trying to sound like the more level-headed one in this instance.

When Farrier winked, he knew Collins would melt for him.  Which was why he did it, of course. 

"You make me wrong," Farrier quipped, making the other man flush because he knew _exactly_ the older man's meaning by that, the loaded sentence being what it was.

They were already like an old couple in this way—often there would be a good bit of back and forth, but it was always just banter between them, and Farrier completely knew Collins inside out at this point, just as the other did with him.  He knew all the tricks, as they say, on how to get out of trouble with his darling.  And Collins, in turn, knew all the ways to make Farrier smile again, if the older man happened to be in a mood.  A proper yin and yang set, that's what they were.

A mischievous glint appeared in Farrier's eyes, then.  And before Collins could say anything about it, the older man had taken the other by the wrist when he was sure that no one was watching them, leading him to some secluded crevice they could spend a few moments in, as they often did.

Collins' blue-green eyes rounded, as Farrier had him backed up against a wall, a hand planted beside the blonde's head and an arm pinned over him.  Collins let out a sound that was like a cross between a whine and a moan, when Farrier drew closer and pressed their lips together, fervently probing the younger man's mouth with his tongue.  When they parted, both were breathless, panting softly.  Collins shook his head in disapproval, though he couldn't hide the fondness for the other man in his expression.

" _Just what are you doing_ , Hugh...?!" Collins hissed quietly, tone mildly scolding.

Farrier chuckled, brushing his lips over the other man's again, playful and teasing.  "Well, _what do you think_...?" he poked back, lightly.  "I'm _being wrong_."

" _Oh_ ," Collins said, when Farrier then went after his neck.

The older pilot snorted softly to himself, in amusement.  _That word again_ , he mused.

When he pulled back again, this time he pressed his forehead against the blonde's, and placed a hand upon the younger man's cheek, affectionately.  "So say we _were_ to get a holiday," Farrier murmured softly.  "What is it you would have liked for me to fetch for you, darling?"

He angled again for the man's lips—they'd probably spent too long in seclusion at this point.  The longer they carried on like this in daylight, the better chance they had at getting caught.  Still, Farrier couldn't stop, at least, not as of yet.  He just had to get this little bit off his chest, and then he'd be done with being inappropriate with Collins until eventide, as per usual. 

"I'd give you the whole world, if I could," Farrier said, as he nipped lightly at the other man's lower lip.  "If it weren't for this _blasted war_ that we're in..."

He was pleased when Collins gave in a little more, being the one to search more eagerly for Farrier instead, catching the older man's lips and slipping in a bit of tongue again.  Collins then gently knocked his forehead against Farrier's; a playful reprimand of sorts.

"You're quite the romanticist, aren't you, my love?" Collins whispered, blushing as he said it, even though he'd be the one meaning to tease.  He brushed his nose against Farrier's in an Eskimo kiss.  "You make my heart flutter so..."

"You make me that way, Jim, don't be daft," Farrier grumbled, but he wasn't the least bit upset.  He just had airs to put on, even though knowing Collins could see right through him; rather easily, at this point.  "Now, quit being coy, and be quite frank with me here.  If I could give you the sun, the moon, and the stars—what would you wish for?"

Collins laughed softly at first, but then the blonde actually surprised Farrier a little when the humor in his eyes seem to fade, if only a little.  The words Collins spoke next, he'd meant to say them quite dramatically, more in jest.  Perhaps though, he'd even surprised himself, by how seriously he ended up meaning them.  The blonde pilot cupped his hands gently around Farrier's face, staring straight into the older man's eyes as he spoke his next words.

" _You_ , my darling..." he'd whispered, hushed.  "Even if you could give me all those things.  And maybe it's because we've seen it all for ourselves firsthand, the horrors of this war, you and I, that makes me give you this answer."

Farrier could find no fault in that, although he still would have liked to know what the other man might have wanted; the dark-haired pilot desired opportunity to dote on the younger man more, in as many different ways as possible.  Be like the man in those romance novels his younger sister liked to read; the kind he'd used to make fun of her for, after perhaps glancing over a few of the pages of such books himself, out of curiosity.  Now he could say that he actually understood, though he might still be ashamed to admit it.

Collins went on.  "But even if we'd met under different circumstances—under more peaceful times—my love, _I know_ ," the younger man murmured— _and since when did the boy become so eloquent?  Or had he always been that way?_   Farrier wondered.  "That no matter what the occasion—be it birthday, holiday, or some anniversary—my answer would still be the same.  If I could be with you just one more hour, one more day, one more moment—I know, I sound like a dame, but it's _true_ , you know.  That just simply _being with you_ to spend all those times, together, would be all the gift I would ever need."

Farrier was greatly moved.  They shared with each other one last kiss, neither man having to communicate to the other that it was time to go.  They both knew—they had spent too long in the shadows during the daylight hours.

"Me too, for the record," Farrier said softly, squeezing Collins' hand before stepping back out first.  The younger man would soon follow after several beats, as always, to err on the side of caution while they were both trying to be more discreet.  "For all the things in the world I could receive, I too, would always choose this."

What happened after that, Farrier hadn't been given the chance to recall.  The next thing he knew, he woke to a bucket of ice cold water being splashed onto his face.

* * *

Farrier sputtered, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to clear his vision from ice-like droplets, dripping all off him now.  He'd been unable to wipe them away with his hands, because they and his feet, were tied tightly in rope to a chair.  Soon, Farrier began to shiver, the warmth from his memories with Collins gone at the drop of a hat.  _He was back in internment, then_. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, and might have yelped— _oh!_ —when they splashed him with another blast of cold water, again.  By then he'd already _immediately_ known where he was, and who exactly he was in custody with.  In response to this knowledge, Farrier began to steel himself for even more pain and discomfort, which he could unfortunately say with firsthand experience, that this was all eventually sure to come.  Shaking his head rapidly, he tried to swat at the Axis soldiers with what he could toss off his body in cold water.  This earned him a smart smack to the head, causing him to grunt involuntarily.

" _Oof_."

The thick-accented, foreign soldiers began to yell some words at him roughly in English.  Farrier had missed a majority of the threats initially, because he'd just heard Collins respond to his grunting in his head.  A memory from the first time they'd lain together, and he'd made a similar sound after Collins had given him a well-deserved smack to the chest.

 _"Serves you right, old man,"_ Farrier could hear the younger man say.

He might have chuckled.  Looking up at the angry soldiers now, he could confirm for sure that he had.  One wagged his finger at his face, looking quite irritated.

" _He laughs!_ " the man cried out, looking at his fellow soldiers like he'd been seriously insulted.  His tone was incredulous.  "Do you see this?!  The Englishman _laughs!_ "

"M'right here, mind you..." Farrier mumbled sarcastically, not even bothering to hide his comment.

He groaned when he received another hard smack for his impudence.  "Shut up!" the same officer shouted at him.  "Or we shall kill you right where you stand!"

"An' as you can see," Farrier drawled lazily.  "I'm actually quite sitting, thank you...!"

He then couldn't help but to laugh a little more.  Perhaps he _had_ gone a little mad upstairs, after all. 

 _Crack!_   Farrier groaned, receiving another hard boxing of his ears, and the man was sure he was probably that much closer to a concussion, if he wasn't sporting one already.  The officer snarled.

Perhaps he was about to go after him again, Farrier couldn't really tell—he was just now noticing that his vision was starting to blur a little, with the swelling around his eyes starting.  He could tell, even without touching his face, that at least one side of his face was beginning to bruise. 

There was angry shouting among the Germans, and eventually Farrier was able to infer that the one that had been smacking him about was apparently subdued by his colleagues from doing anything further to him.  At least, for the time being. 

He couldn't see as well, this time, but a different officer was grilling words at him now.  "You will fight for us...!" he demanded, his German accent very thick.  "You will do what is best for you, if you would like to live."

"Like hell I will," Farrier muttered, never losing his spirit.

They could try to break him, all that they'd like, but he would never give in.  Exhibiting his pride though, of course, didn't come without some cost.  They poured more cold water over him again.  Farrier roared, more out of annoyance and frustration than anything else.  The Nazi's were demons, in his eyes, and he got the sense that they could tell he wasn't moved at all by their tactics.

Then, like any other seasoned military man, he felt the danger coming.  Both eyes nearly swollen shut now, all he could see was something that looked like a black shadow loom towards him.  He felt the grip on what was left of his tattered collar before he felt the onset of fear.

" _Then we will give you hell_ ," the same man who had just most recently spoken growled at him, before Farrier felt the same hands release him and move down to his fingers.

When four on each hand were suddenly roughly snapped back, Farrier threw his head back and howled, tears streaming from their swollen aqueducts, as the pilot's body trembled involuntarily in reaction to the pain.  They would be reset later, and he would be given decent enough treatment to heal—since the Germans still hoped to convince him to join their cause, so they could use him—but the horrors of the torture they would inflict on him, well.  Those would linger around like ghosts for _years_.  The rest of his time here on earth, really.

Though, even as the Axis powers tried to break and re-break him, Farrier found, over time, that all he needed to do was remember Collins.  Just think of Collins, and cling onto the man as his anchor.  If he did that, then everything ended up feeling quite all right, as it always did.

* * *

 _December 25, 1939_.  Collins was glaring at Farrier, as he was helping to redress the man's arm with bandages for a healing gunshot wound.  Farrier couldn't help but to half-smile at the other man's concern.

"Tell me what's eating you, love," the dark-haired pilot murmured.

"Ooh...I'd smack the hell out o' you, I would...!" Collins grumbled, but he settled for tugging at the bandage—perhaps a little _too_ tight, even—once.  Just for good measure.  He hissed quietly back at the man, through gritted teeth.  "You know _exactly_ what's eating me, William Fitzhugh...!"

It was rather domestic of him, that sort of reprimand.  Farrier snorted softly, his own blue-green eyes twinkling with amusement. 

"You seem rather cross...perhaps it's because I didn't bring you back something other than this?" Farrier teased, voice quiet, for the most part.  He lifted his arm slightly, as much as he could without irritating it. 

Collins frowned more deeply, shaking his head disapprovingly.  " _Ooh_...William!" Collins snapped, _always refusing to use the proper name_ —Farrier happened to note with great amusement—when the blonde was angry with him.  "That's right—you said you would get me any gift that suited my fancy."

Farrier nodded at this, acknowledging it to be the truth.  Collins dropped his shoulders and let out a huge sigh.

"Well, _just so you know_ ," Collins said, motioning at the fully refreshed bandages around Farrier's arm, which the older pilot was now trying to place back in its sling.  "This...!  This wasn't exactly or at all what I had in mind."

Farrier chuckled softly, unable to stop himself.  The man was constantly placing his foot in his mouth, it seemed, whenever it came to Collins. 

"But you _did_ ask for every waking moment together," the older pilot teased, with a bit of a cheeky grin.  "Haven't I kept up my end of the bargain, then?  If we're being technical, that is."

"Oh, that's _quite enough of you_ ," Collins said, shaking his head, although Farrier could tell the blonde's irritation with him was already starting to wane. 

The blonde tried to nudge him away, but Farrier caught him by the wrist, with the hand of his good arm.  Collins hung his head a little and sighed, but did not turn to face the other man, still upset enough with him.

"Look, _I'm sorry_ , love," Farrier murmured quietly.  "But think of this, yeah?  One day, when we've got the time to figure out how to _really_ make this work, then things won't be like this.  I won't be coming home sometimes broken, and maybe I'll even have a little something special ready for you, besides myself, when we're celebrating the holidays."

They'd both heard the door open then.  Farrier quickly dropped Collins' wrist, and the blonde man acted as if he had already planned to be on his way out, rather than about to turn around and let the other man know that he forgave him, really, but he would just prefer it if the older pilot would just _be more careful_ when he was given an assignment, was all.

* * *

It was funny how feelings of regret, from an opportunity missed, could jolt Collins awake in a cold sweat, just as easily as when he dreamt about Farrier's plane dropping too far away from view.  He was back, upright on the too-soft bed of his bachelor's abode, which was where he was now that he'd been discharged from the RAF.  There was a bit of relief in realizing this, Collins thought to himself, in a way.  Here, there was no one else around him to accidentally wake up, nor would there be any questions coming from concerned parents and siblings.  At the same time, however, this also meant he was left quite alone with his thoughts.  Without Farrier.  

It was now fall of 1943.  There had been a recovery of Farriers body, followed by a burial _months_ ago, and Collins imagined that this was the reason for the dream he'd just had.  Winter was soon approaching.  The thought of this made Collins sick to the pit of his stomach.  He turned over in his bed and pulled a pillow over his head, squeezing his eyes shut.  As if that would block out all unnecessary thoughts.  It didn't work, of course.

Soon, Collins' body shook, as he began to wrack with sobs.  "You said you'd come back to me..." Collins whispered to nobody in particular, tears streaming out the corners of his eyes as his body shook, and he whimpered.  "You promised me we'd get out together...that you'd _be here_..."

His cries grew louder and his grip tightened around his pillow.  Curling into a ball on his side, the man began to scream as his mind forced him to remember things he wished he didn't.  

 _"Where the hell were you?"_ he could hear that one man whose name he didn't know accuse him, over and over. 

"Make it stop...!" Collins begged, sobbing uncontrollably, form still curled on his side and knees tucked towards his chest.  His body still shaking from wave after wave of irrational panic.  "Make it _stop_ , Hugh...!  Oh _please_...!  Come back to me and help _make_ it all _stop_...!"

* * *

This went on for the two men for years, with Collins' memories of Farrier both a welcome thing as much as it could be mental torture, and Farrier's memories of Collins fueling him to just simply _press on_.  Until. 

The year was now 1945.  Farrier, now considerably weakened by this point, had seen a last opportunity of sorts—he honestly didn't know how much longer he could hold on beyond that point, not to mention post-December, the Nazis were falling.  Somehow in the chaos, he had gotten himself free, yet again, and the sense of home was literally so close within his grasp this time.  He could see the familiar colors of the warriors of his home country, and the minute both sides stopped firing, Farrier chose to run—though it was more like a really quick hobble, given the fact that he now had a somewhat lame leg from all the torture he'd endured—towards the British front lines.  He knew that there was a risk he'd be shot down by for of friendly fire, but he didn't much care by that point.  _He had to try_.

Thankfully, the squadron leader for the ground troops seemed to recognize him exactly for who he was.  He saw the man hold up a fist, halting his men and preventing them from doing anything rash.

 _"Stop!  Hold your fire!"_ Farrier heard the man say as he hobbled as quickly as he could towards the front lines.  _"Clearly he's one of ours!"_

Farrier couldn't have felt more glad.  He wasn't on friendly soil yet, but for once he felt pretty damn close to it, that was for certain.  Soon after being taken to safety, Farrier was given a brief assessment to confirm his identity and then— _finally_ , he was sent off on the next departing ship for _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for all your just beautiful comments! I really treasure the support being given.
> 
> (Also...do people like AUs in this fandom? Would you guys read any AUs, if I were to write them, for this pairing? I think I might be starting to get a few ideas for this...)


	3. Act III: The Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farrier didn't need to worry—their love would always withstand the tests of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! The kudos just jumped overnight. That's so wild! Thanks guys!
> 
> Last chapter of this fic—can't think of doing another installment unless you guys are interested in my exploring the ramifications that Collins and Farrier might face as homosexuals in the 1940's with their families and society in general. Otherwise, this series is actually done this time...but it wouldn't have been a series at all without you guys voicing interest!! 
> 
> For those interested in requesting prompts on these two from me, I just launched a Tumblr page (where I also plan to unload my unhealthy obsession over Gambit of the X-Men...LOL). It's <http://granddukeforever.tumblr.com/>! (Also, all I'll probably ever post on that Tumblr post-wise, is Gambit, because— _drool_ —he's my _bae_. #SorryNotSorry, lol. So be prepared for that, if you decide to follow me there.)
> 
> Also, I just found this fan video using Hozier's "Work," which I thought was _amazing_ and also kind of fits with the tone of this fic. You can find that here: <https://youtu.be/0xnaNbGWX8Y>

_"Hugh..."_

They were beginning again, you see, but just a few minutes before, Farrier had been uncertain.  There were reasons for that, of course, worries that might still linger in the back of his mind.

* * *

Farrier hadn't been quite sure of what he was doing—he hadn't exactly taken the time to come up with a _plan_.  For so long, all he could think about was getting home, getting to Collins, that the man hadn't actually thought about what he would even say to the man, or do, for that matter, once he saw him.  Farrier had gone to a lot, placed down some bills, and got himself a rental car.  With the letter he'd received from the Dawson boy on the dashboard, and a map he'd purchased on the passenger's seat, Farrier sucked in a nervous breath, started up the car, and was soon on his way. 

He'd committed the house number to memory, and he'd studied the map for what felt like countless times before setting off on his journey.  All the while, as he drew closer, Farrier found himself tapping his index fingers nervously, incessantly, upon the steering wheel, his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears.  Occasionally, at several stops, Farrier would glance at the part of his face that could be seen in his rear view mirror, and then he'd go back to staring straight ahead, shaking his head sometimes with a bit of self-loathing.  For he was not the man he once was—standing tall with great posture, flawless skin, and although he hadn't been youthful, per sé, when he'd first met Collins, he had been a strapping young lad enough to say that he was. 

He had more of a lean now, when he stood—the Germans had made sure of that, with their whipping and breaking and endless death marches, meant to tear down a man's morale if they didn't succeed in literally running him into the ground.  He'd garnered a limp, as a result, and Farrier found himself wondering if Collins might not like that.  He could sit up straight just fine, even drive a car, without too much trouble—but if he walked, he'd most certainly have a limp, and Farrier wasn't even sure if he could run anymore.  He hadn't tried, for fear of learning an awful reality, which sometimes came with the truth. 

He also had scars—oh, _so_ _many more scars_ —than when the younger man had last seen him.  These weren't just the typical cuts or gunshot wounds that sometimes came with their line of work.  These were thick, raised scars; especially gritty on his back, where he'd been slashed at again, and again.  Infected, then treated, then slashed right damn open again.  His hands, too, from when they'd broken and reset them a few times.  Farrier would always have arthritis in those now; sometimes he'd get overwhelmed when thinking about needing to open a jar, or even something as simple as a bit of a stuck door.  Farrier hadn't tried either of those scenarios yet either, but the thought that he might not be able to do them, or at least overcome his pain while trying, made him forget for a second that he was a grown man that society said _shouldn't_ _cry_.  His face too, although fortunately not mangled, most certainly had a few scars there as well, and he still needed to go and replace a few of his missing back teeth.  All in all, one could say he _was_ a little bit worse for wear.  The thought struck him with a bit of grief.

And the more he thought about these things, the more uncertain he became as to whether he should see his former lover from the War at all.  _Should I just be content to know that he's alive?_   Farrier wondered.  _Would he truly ever want to see me again, or would he be disgusted by the mere sight of my current state?_   He couldn't be sure.  He brooded.  _Had he moved on?  Was he seeing somebody else?_   Farrier had no way of knowing.  The letter he'd been given by the Dawson boy was dated nearly over a year ago— _anything_ could have happened since then.  It was most certainly more than enough time.

Then, he didn't know when, but at some point he'd realized that he'd _made it_.  Made it to a patch of small, quaint farmland in the middle of a vast countryside landscape, and there he was, in his rusty little bucket of a rental car, sitting in the mouth of what was presumably Collins' driveway.  He noticed a plane.  Then the man.  Farrier sucked in a short breath—he couldn't say for absolute certain, his vision also not being nearly as sharp as it used to—but the way the man stood, and his still-golden hair, the former pilot's instincts said it _was_ who he was looking for. 

He thought about turning around, then.  All the insecurities he'd ruminated over in the drive there were flooding back, crashing over him like a merciless wave.   _He wasn't ready for this_ , he thought.   _He might not ever be strong enough to face his demons_.  His hands seemed to betray him, however, as did his right foot, for soon he found himself pulling the rental car up, as far along this man's driveway it would go.  And it _was_ Collins, Farrier was able to confirm for himself, as he got closer.  He parked.  At that point, he figured, he might as well get out of the car; take a chance.  Farrier, a man and now a veteran who had already dealt with so much whilst in service, so much physical pain and mental trauma he'd endured without once cracking or breaking, now suddenly found it very important that he start steeling his heart.  For he knew otherwise, if Collins were to reject him, that would be it, then.  He wouldn't make it.  The sheer force that had been keeping him alive would have gone, and he would finally lose all reason for living. 

Perhaps he was being a little over dramatic, sure, but this was how it was sometimes, for once simple men who came home warriors, some just the shades of who they once were, completely broken from the trials of war.  People who loved them before then, wouldn't understand why certain things would make them jump, after.  Or why they would sometimes wake up screaming at night, reaching for men who were no longer there, would never be there again, having already been lost to the enemy's sword, gun, or even worse things than those.  Sometimes all a soldier had anymore were his band of brothers, and none ever got closer to Farrier than the one he had called his lover, Collins.

Farrier had to admit, he thought he was going to have a bit of a nervous breakdown.  Standing there, not entirely sure what to do with his hands, so he'd put them in his pockets at first, waiting.  _Hoping_.  It was worse than a man trying to impress his darling dove on their very first date, or even asking them in the first place.  He sucked in a breath, when he saw the younger man turn.

 _Now or never_ , his subconscious whispered to him, and so Farrier—now having removed his hands from his pockets and placing them on his sides—began limping towards Collins, wincing inwardly at how he must be appearing to the younger man.  His heart went aflutter, when the blonde's expression changed, from shock to what Farrier could only hope he was accurately interpreting as _total elation_ , as the younger man began to charge towards him.  Farrier didn't like that he was so unsure, feeling _so out of practice_ in being able to read the other man—he could only hope that the other would give him the time and the opportunity to learn such things again.  And Collins really was no longer a boy now, but most certainly every bit the man Farrier knew he'd one day grow into, one day become.  Although he had, Farrier noted, retained some of his boyish looks, and the older former pilot was sure this was also true of his charm.

He was no longer as muscular or as strong as he'd been, when they'd first started, and Farrier felt the need to stop where he was and let the younger man run the rest of the way towards him.  Farrier placed a foot behind and braced himself, his arms spreading wide and his expression _hopeful_ , that Collins could still find it in his heart to _love him_ , all imperfections he had gained in their considerable time apart aside.

Farrier nearly wept when the blonde crushed their bodies together, hugging him tightly.  Perhaps a tear did slide out from his eye, when he felt Collins grip at the fabrics on his back, ignorant of the horrors that lay beneath them.  Farrier was hesitant at first, taking things in small steps.  First, he tentatively placed his hands on the younger man's back, and when the blonde man didn't flinch, Farrier dared to move one hand up to the back of the man's neck.  When the only reaction Collins gave was to _sob harder_ and grip at his back _more tightly_ , Farrier then dared to place a soft kiss atop the younger man's head, right in the hairs.  Taking in the scent of who Collins was, now, and reveling in it; trying to commit it all to memory, in case it would somehow be abruptly taken away from him.  He later pushed the envelope a bit further, and pressed a firm kiss against the blonde's forehead. 

 _I love you_ , he wanted to tell the younger man.  _I've loved, and I love you_.  _I still love you_.  _I'll always love you_.  And then— _but you, my darling?  Could you honestly love me again?_  

He felt Collins try to push away from him.  Farrier gave little resistance, and his heart might have clenched in anticipation.  He was nervous again.

Then Collins' blue-green eyes looked into his, shining brightly, and Farrier _knew_ somehow.  Perhaps he hadn't completely forgotten how to read the other man, after all, because he could _tell_.  Collins still wanted him.  Farrier could hardly believe it.  He really did feel like that "damn lucky bastard" that the blonde always used to tease that he was.  Collins had been waiting for him, all this time.  Collins _wanted him there_. 

 _Stay with me_ , his hands seemed to say, as Collins brought them up to Farrier's face, his whole body shaking.  His hands were trembling, the man being overcome by emotion.  _Don't leave_. 

If Farrier had been himself, the way he'd once been, the man might have hooted and hollered, and probably done cartwheels on the younger man's front lawn.  When their lips drew close, just gently brushing each other, Farrier found himself thinking back on all the times they had done such things so similar, back when they were both in their early days of service.

And before their lips would finally lock together, Collins had whispered a word.  A single word.  A name.

_"Hugh..."_

And there they were, back to the idea of starting again.  Farrier didn't know what to say.  Well, he knew what he _wanted_ _to say_ , but the man was still uncertain; unsure as to whether he'd really had any rights.  Then Collins kissed him, and all doubts had been pushed back to their hindquarters again. 

Eventually, reluctantly, Farrier cupped his stiff hands over the younger man's still soft ones—the older former pilot silently noting with relief that this probably meant Collins hadn't seen many more horrors after his needing to beach upon the waters of Dunkirk, and for that, the dark-haired man was overly grateful.  Collins looked at him with a mixture of concern and confusion, when Farrier forced them to part, and the man shook his head.

"This was a mistake..." he whispered, unable to hide the sheer misery from his tone.  "I should have been content to know that you were here, and getting on.  I shouldn't have come."

And for the first time since Farrier could recall, the look in Collins' eyes seemed both sharp and fierce.  _Had the War truly grown him, that much?_   Farrier wondered.  Collins frowned.

"What are you talking about...?!" he hissed, looking as if he'd been stung.  " _Gods_ , Hugh...!  Just look at me!  I _haven't_ been getting on!  I've been merely doing my best, and trying to live this sordid life without you!  Now, I don't know how you're here, or how you made it when I was told quite surely before that you had died, but _you're here right now_ and _here with me_ , so I really could much less care about the specifics."

There was a fire to him now, Farrier realized.  One that must have been simmering beneath that once seemingly overly soft exterior, once upon a time.  Farrier licked his lips nervously, in the way that Collins had used to, and shook his head again.

"I'm no good to you this way," he said, remembering his old habits of trying to give Collins a few opportunities for an out before saying _oh dash it all_ , then throwing caution to the wind and doing what it was he had set out to do anyway. 

Collins cried out, as if he'd heard something foul.  To be fair though, he had. 

"What in God's name...?!" Collins exclaimed, clearly frustrated and slipping his hands out from beneath Farrier's so he could place his on top of the older man's instead.  " _Don't be daft_ , William!  _I love you_."

Farrier's breath hitched.  _William_ , Collins had said.  The first name the blonde man only used if he felt like Farrier wasn't taking him seriously, and so he was wanting to place emphasis on said feelings of seriousness.  Then there had been the declaration.  Farrier could hardly believe his ears.  He shook his head slowly.  Collins wouldn't let him off so easily.

" _William.  Fitzhugh.  Farrier_ ," Collins said, giving special emphasis to each part of the older man's name.  "You listen to me closely, then.  I, James Earl Collins, have been, still am, and _always will be_ , in love with you."

It was like a scene that could have come straight out of Charlotte Brontë's _Jane Eyre_.  Farrier's sister had read a little bit of it to him once, from the end of it.  He'd rolled his eyes at such things then.  It was clearly different, it seemed, to experience something like that come to life for himself. 

Farrier gave the younger man one more go.  "I'm old now," he said.  "Weathered.  Worn.  There are things..."

He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly as he tried to get the resolve to continue on.  He rounded his lips and forcefully pushed out some air, trying to keep it together long enough so that he could try and state his case properly.

"Things you haven't _seen_ yet, my darling..." Farrier said, not having meant to slip out one of his favorite pet names for Collins, not wanting to complicate things between them any further.  Make the decision any more agonizing.  When Farrier opened his eyes again, they were filled with sadness and a deep longing.  He whispered.  "I'm afraid you'll _regret_ , my love, if you see what horrors I carry here."

He moved a hand out of the other man's grasp so he could motion to his whole being, his frame.  Collins wasn't having any more of it.  He shook his head at Farrier.

"Since when was _age_ such a problem for you?" Collins snipped, and Farrier felt the man's hands hold onto him more tightly, as if afraid he'd slip out of his grasp like an eel.  "Weren't you the one, back then, who was always saying that seven years was hardly a time apart between us?  And _so what_ if you've got scars from your time in war?  I'm no damsel that's naïve of what standing on the front lines meant, or what it's all _cost_.  So your excuses, my dear, are a grand load of poppycock, Hugh, and _I know_ _you know it too_."

Then a worry Farrier hadn't been expecting clouded the younger man's features.  His eyes began to show some fear.  The blonde's voice shook a bit, when he spoke again. 

" _Unless..._ " the blonde whispered, lips trembling a little.  " _Unless_ , of course, darling...this is your way of telling me how _you_ feel...?  That _you_ want nothing to do with me...?  That _you_...that _you_ no longer feel the same way...?  About us...?  About... _me_...?"

Collins' voice had grown quieter and quieter still, with each question.  This time, it was Farrier's turn to frown, and to hold the younger man closer.

"What?!  No... _no_...!" Farrier insisted, shaking his head.  "No.  _Heavens_ , no, my darling...my sweet...my dove, my—"

" _Go on_..." Collins said when the other man trailed off for a second, at a loss for somewhat cheesy adjectives meant to butter up a cross lover, and his tone was a light teasing.

Farrier could start to see that the blonde was brightening up a little again, and he might have sighed a little in relief—he'd never been able to handle whenever it was the other man became upset, and he was starting to remember all the ways he'd learned to make sure the other man was nothing but all smiles again.  He took hold of one of the man's hands, clasping their fingers together and pressing his other hand against the small of the blonde's back, so they were basically in a slow dancing position.  Farrier brought the hands that were clasped down to their sides and pushed the man's torso more firmly against his.  Thankfully they were far away from prying eyes here, because Farrier noted in the back of his mind that their current state would have probably made for quite the spectacle. 

Farrier brought his lips close to Collins' again, moving them against the blonde's as he spoke again.  "No, my love..." he said, hushed.  "I do.  Love you.  _Jim_..."

The younger man surprised him by being the one to peck their lips together.  When they parted, Farrier watched as Collins' eyes dropped to the older man's lips, and he tugged gently at the dark-haired man's collar.  Farrier wondered at the younger man's blush that seemed to be forming, until Collins shyly reminded him of familiar words he'd spoken himself, in a time now long since past.

" _Come away with me_ , then," Collins murmured softly, trying to appear as if he were distracted by anything, just so he wouldn't have to look directly into Farrier's eyes as he said it; as he was _flirting_ with the other man, like he was trying to re-woo him. 

Farrier had to admit— _it was working_.  His heart felt like it was beating right out of its ribcage.  He was surprised to find himself panting softly, after Collins made his _offer_.  Farrier, of course, knew he would be out of his mind not to accept.  Especially when it was the other man who had opened the door.  He nodded.

Then, he gave Collins his own variation.  He was an original, after all.

"Wherever you lead, my darling, there I shall follow," Farrier whispered, just as soft.

Collins finally looked up at him again, eyes shining with tears.  "Then let's go," he said quietly, voice cracking a little with emotion as he took Farrier by the wrist, and true to his word, the older man limped along behind the younger towards the man's home.

* * *

Neither man remembered how long it took to get to the second floor, where Collins had set up a reasonably-sized mattress in the master bedroom.  The feverish kissing didn't start, nor layers of clothing shed, until they'd both made it inside the room, and Farrier—perhaps somewhat remembering his former swagger—had deftly hooked part of his foot on the corner of the door and then shut it behind them, kicking it closed with his heel before turning them both around and smacking Collins' backside against it.  Started making out with him; slipped in his tongue.  Hands splayed on either side of the younger man's head against the door as both men laughed at the way their noses bumped together at times, so eager the both were just to get physically intimate and reacquainted.

Then, they had started to rip the clothes off each other, dumping them all over the room, rather unceremoniously.  They were down to their last few layers by the time they'd reached the bed, and whilst pinned beneath Farrier, Collins brought his hands to the man's chest, biting a little at his lower lip as he placed his hands against the older man's chest, ready to remove the shirt there.  The older man was breathless, eyes heavy and dark with lust, but some of it was receding, as it was clear self-consciousness was slowly creeping back and winning.  Collins, however, was only searching for permission, not hesitating out of fear.

"May I, darling...?" he murmured.

Farrier's lips pressed thin.  Tightly, he nodded.  Collins did his best to give the older man and gave him a reassuring smile.  Reluctantly, Farrier allowed the blonde to tug his shirt up and over his shoulders; his head, removing it completely.  He wasn't sure how to take at first, when the younger man's eyes widened and he gasped.  He was soon surprised, however, when he recognized that the man was shaking and his eyes were watering, not from fear, but from considerable anger there.  Collins looked up at him piercingly, jaw set.

"They really... _oh Hugh_..." he murmured, and Farrier tried his best not to flinch when Collins brushed his fingertips lightly over several of his old wounds on his chest.  Collins shook his head, disgusted by the actions of the Germans who'd injured him.  "I'm _so sorry_ you had to bear all of this alone, love... _forgive me_ for _not having been there_..."

"Shh..." Farrier said, shakily himself, overcome with emotion and disbelief that the man was willing to be so accepting of him still.  He cupped a hand over one of Collins', bringing it to his lips first to kiss it, before guiding it to one of his cheeks as he drew his face closer to the younger man.  His voice hushed.  "It's all in the past now, innit, love?  Besides, had you been there to go through the same things I was, I don't think I could have bore it at all.  To see you in pain...well.  _That_ would have broken me, when everything else they did could not."

Collins' brows furrowed together.  "What...may I ask...?"

Farrier nodded.  "Go on, then," he murmured.  "You want to know what it was they were asking me to do in exchange for freedom...?"

Collins nodded, somewhat hesitant.  Farrier half-smiled.

"It's all right, love," he assured, not hesitant at all himself, to share every bit of himself with this man.  His _heart_.  "Had you been there, darling, I would have betrayed it.  I would have betrayed our King, our Country, and everyone else, along with them."

Collins gasped softly.  He whimpered a little, when Farrier's hands began to _move_ and roam all over him. 

"You see, pet," Farrier whispered, bringing his lips to the man's ear; catching the younger man's earlobe gently, between his teeth.  "It was your memory that got me through—the remembrance of what our love meant to me.  _Still_ means to me..."

When Farrier brought his hand down below, and touched him _there_ , Collins couldn't help but to arch his back, and moan sweetly.  Farrier groaned a little himself, his hardness growing at the sight of such beauty, and he continued on with his speech as the last of the clothing barriers between them came off. 

"Selfish as it sounds," he said, rather huskily.  "I would have sold my soul to those devils—the Nazis—if it meant that I could have protected you from being hurt in kind."

" _Stop_..." Collins said, shaking his head, not wanting Farrier to admit to such things.  "I wouldn't have wanted you to shield me from such things...not at such great cost."

Farrier snorted softly, affection reflected clearly in his eyes.  "You want me to lie to you, then...?  Tell you I would have just sit idly by and watched as they tried to rip you apart?  Tear you down...?"

Collins fell silent then.  They both knew better, of course.

The blonde crossed his wrists behind the older man's neck and pulled the other down for a quick kiss before releasing him again.  "Then I suppose I should be glad..." he murmured.  "That all this time, I had thought you lost..."

"Mm..." Farrier agreed with a small nod.  "That would be for the best, love."

The blonde shivered, when Farrier slid his hand gently between his thighs, coaxing him.  Collins moaned, and easily spread his legs, eager to give the older man access.  Farrier had hardly done anything to him, and yet, Collins could swear that he was already seeing stars.  He was most certainly aroused and dizzy with want.  His whole body seemed to tingle with electricity.  _Farrier could still make him feel as if he were sticking to things, like the floor_ , it seemed, for instance; for Collins.  Not that he'd ever really doubted that the other man could.

" _Oh_...!" Collins gasped, writhing in pleasure as Farrier kissed his way down the blonde's abdomen, before taking the younger man's entire hardened length into his mouth.

The palms of Collins' hands flew to his eyes as he arched his back and bucked his hips into the heat, nearly cumming on the spot because he was in such a heightened state of arousal, and he was not only with his love, it had just been _so long_ and it was an understatement to simply say that the younger man was _so_ very glad to be with Farrier again.  He did end up cumming though, once, eventually into Farrier's mouth.  He'd had tried to hold out for as long as he could while the man worked on him, but apparently the older man seemed to have been intent on collecting Collins' seed from him at once, before even bothering to do anything else. 

Collins' face was flushed a bright red, and the rims of his irises were extremely thin, greatly overtaken by the blacks of his pupils.  He barely managed to lift his head, he was presently so elated, so _high_ off their being in the thick of their lovemaking, to look down where the older man was, a cheeky little grin on his lips.

"That good, hm?" Farrier teased him, and it made Collins glad to see that the older man seemed to be forgetting his insecurities again. 

Collins playfully stuck his tongue out at him.  "If you think _that's_ all I'm going to need to be completely satisfied, well, then you'd be quite entirely wrong."

"Would I...?" Farrier asked, brows raised, clearly playing dumb.  "And how shall I make it up to you then, my darling, since it is clear you are not yet completely satisfied."

Collin's lips twitched slightly at the corners, and he curled one of his pointer fingers in a come-hither motion.  Farrier easily complied.  Collins took hold of one of the man's hands and brought one of Farrier's fingers to his lips, watching the other man with an intentionality as he took the digit into his mouth and began to suck on it, swirling his tongue rather lazily around it.  He could feel his cock wanting to twitch back to hardness again, upon seeing the way the older man was clearly affected by this.

Collins slicked up several more of Farrier's fingers, until he was satisfied, then pulled off of them with a lewd pop, pushing the man's hand gently in the direction he expected them to go and _do something_.  Farrier was correct in assuming that was all the permission he needed to receive, and quickly set off to work.

It was a little painful for him than it had been in times past, admittedly, but Farrier wasn't about to admit to that.  Not right then, at any rate, with the way Collins was so expectant.  So _wanting_.  He didn't realize that the younger man caught onto this, however, with a slight frown.  And unbeknownst to him, Collins ended up secretly resolving within himself, right then and there, that in the future, _he'd_ be the one to slick himself up, so as to make things easier for his dashing Farrier.

Collins tilted his head back and moaned, when Farrier began to spread him apart.  He teared up, when Farrier had loosened him up enough, and then angled himself just right so that he could sheathe himself into Collins, right up to the hilt.  After a few shallow thrusts, Farrier's eyes rounded when he noticed the younger man's conflicted state of emotion, and he immediately stopped, dropping his torso just enough so that their chests were pressed together, and the older man began to stroke at the blonde's golden locks with both hands in an attempt to soothe him.

"Shh..." he hushed, gently, continuing to thread his hands through.  "What is it, my love...?  Does it hurt...?  Did I not prepare you long enough...?  I'm sorry—I must have been too eager.  It's just been so long since we've been like this together, and I—"

" _No_..." Collins said, voice breaking a bit as he shook his head and placed his hands around Farrier's wrists, forcing the older to bring his hands down to cup at the younger man's cheeks.  " _No_ , it's just...I just can't believe you're _here_...and that we're doing _this_ , and _oh_..."

Farrier half-smiled.  "I see that's still your favorite word, love," he teased quietly, affectionately.

Collins, no surprise, smacked him lightly on the chest for that comment.  Farrier laughed.  Collins shook his head.

"I'm just _so happy_ , darling," he said.  "That's all.  I'm just... _happy_."

Farrier nodded.  He understood.

Knowing now that Collins was in no kind of pain, he began to rock into the younger man again.  They eventually remembered what it was like, to fall into a rhythm, and pretty soon they both reached their tipping points, and climaxed together.  Farrier later pulled out and fell over on his back, somewhere to the side of Collins, looking up at the ceiling breathlessly, and panting softly.  Beside him, Collins was in a similar state of disarray, though later he'd recovered enough to surprise Farrier by going down below to the man's soft, but slightly twitching length.  He took the man's member into his mouth, and eagerly began to service him.

" _Shit_...!" Farrier hissed, seeming to harden twice as fast when he looked down at where the blonde was, looking up at him sexily and his tongue licking at the tip and then the length of his cock, it was the best thing that Collins had ever tasted, worshiping it.  " _Wait_...!"

But it was the only warning Farrier managed to get out, before exploding in Collins' mouth.  Fortunately, having already gone two rounds with the younger man, he was mostly dried up, so Collins had little chance of choking unexpectedly.  He might have cum again, if it had been physically possible to do so, at the way Collins lazily held the man's shrinking length in his mouth, mostly the tip of it.  Looking at Farrier, the younger man worked to drink every last drop, and the older man gulped involuntarily while watching the way the muscles in Collins' throat constricted as he swallowed, and his eyes appeared still heavily laden with desire. 

When it was over, Collins eventually pulled up.  Farrier opened his arm, and Collins eagerly settled his head against the older man's bicep, using it as a pillow.  Farrier glanced over at him in wonder, absently reaching down to pull the covers over them.  Both men's eyes were growing heavy, and as messy as they were, both were too tired and sated to feel inspired to hit the bath and wash themselves off.  They both silently resolved to do it later, although Farrier had a feeling that they might have some more shenanigans before they truly got around to cleaning themselves off.  Not that he minded; they could do this all day and Farrier didn't think he'd ever grow tired of it.

Collins tilted his head up and shyly pecked a quick kiss against the older man's lips, causing Farrier to smile down at him.  "Sleep now, love..." Farrier said, stroking Collins' hair gently.

"If this is a dream...then I never want to wake up from it," Collins confessed.

"I'll be right here when you wake up," Farrier promised, and there was something to be said about the relief that washed over the both of them, from knowing that this was most certainly one that the older man could and would keep.

Reluctantly, Collins was the first to close his eyes.  He sighed and moved himself closer to Farrier's naked form, burying his face a bit into the older man's chest.  Farrier took the opportunity to press himself closer to the other man as well, wrapping his arms around Collins protectively.

"See you in the morning then, love," he murmured softly.

"Mm..." Collins mumbled, nodding a little in agreement.  "S'you in the mornin'..."

The next day, when sunlight streamed through, between the cracks of the curtain, and warming enough parts of both men's faces, causing them to stir, Collins' eyes were the first to open.  Careful in adjusting himself, not wanting to wake Farrier if the older man was not yet ready to be roused, Collins let out a small, contended sigh as he found the perfect position to be able to look up at his lover, glad to confirm that it _was_ true.  That Farrier _was_ somehow still alive, and that they were here, in bed.  Together.

Admittedly, there were so many questions, and he also knew that there would be so many obstacles they would have to face, later on, but none of that mattered to Collins, because he knew that they'd been through worse things than these.  He knew for a fact that whatever obstacles they faced, then on, that they _could_ get through this.  They _would_.  With each other.

A small smile formed on his lips as he watched the other man stir, eyes fluttering open slightly and squinting a bit at first, trying to adjust to the light.  When Farrier finally was able to focus his eyes, he and Collins found themselves staring at each other silently for a while, each reveling the calm atmosphere and the quiet.  For some reason, Collins found himself tearing up again.  He hadn't meant to, but he just couldn't believe how _right_ things felt for them in that moment.  Frowning slightly, Farrier reached out and wiped a tear away with his thumb.

"S'matter, love...?" he rasped softly, voice box still warming up for the day. 

Collins shook his head.  "Nothing..." he murmured quietly back.  "Just... _happy_."

His tone was rather matter of fact.  Farrier nodded, understanding.  Collins eventually stretched himself out a little.  When he glanced over at Farrier again, from the corner of his eye, Collins blushed, realizing that the other man had at some point propped his head up, his arm angled at the elbow, watching him quietly.

"Um..."

He couldn't help blushing harder, when Farrier's response to that monosyllabic utterance was to arch an eyebrow at him.  Collins had to break away from the other man's gaze a bit, and cleared his throat.

"Er...b-breakfast!" he managed to stammer out, changing a subject to a conversation that wasn't happening out loud.  "W-what do you think about that, eh?  Shall, I...shall I whip us up something?"

The twitch to the corners of Farrier's lips came.  The man gave a light shrug, but also nodded. 

"And tea..." he murmured.

"R-right!" Collins said, suddenly scrambling out of bed and grabbing some clothes from the discarded piles from the night before, at random.

Farrier chuckled softly, watching the younger man's still-naked ass retreat.  When the blonde had gone, Farrier flipped over onto his back and let out a small, contented sigh while staring up at the plain white ceiling.

 _He could get used to this_ , he thought.  Farrier didn't realize until later, but apparently at some point, he had gone and closed his eyes for a brief nap, because next thing he knew, he was fluttering them open again.  The smell of eggs and toast wafting to his nose from the kitchen.  He smiled when he heard the man call from the foot of the stairs.

_"Hugh...?!  Breakfast is ready!"_

Farrier opened his eyes.  _Oh yes_ , he thought to himself as he stretched out his limbs and got ready to move from the bed.  _He could most certainly get used to all this_.

* * *

 _December 25, 1946._   The plan, Collins had thought—based on what he'd recalled from their discussions after their particularly rigorous sexual activities from the night before, at any rate—was to _sleep in_. 

So when he felt Farrier nudge him in bed, and according to his internal clock— _which was pretty damn accurate, thank you, Hugh_ —it was still quite early in the morning.  Like perhaps six.  Therefore, he was confused as to why Farrier seemed to want him awake.

" _Psst_ ," Farrier hissed, poking Collins a little more incessantly now, since clearly the blonde didn't want to be moving.

Collins sighed and rolled over in quiet defiance, his back turned to Farrier to show protest.  This did nothing to deter the other man— _who was acting like a child, right now_ , Collins thought to himself, half-amused and equal parts annoyed.  _Honestly_.

More poking.  " _Darling_ ," Farrier drawled, a little bit louder than before.

" _Hm_...!" Collins grumbled, having the need to squeeze his eyes shut now, in a last-ditch effort to keep himself from waking.

One last nudge.  " _Jim_ ," Farrier said finally, in a normal volumed tone.

Collins groaned and flipped over to face Farrier, finally.  He glared at the man, but unfortunately for him, Farrier couldn't help but the find the whole thing endearing.

"What, what, _what_...?!" Collins asked, trying his best to show exasperation and annoyance.

It was then, he noticed, that Farrier was holding out something towards him.  A small gift-wrapped box.  Collins squinted at it.

His cheeks dusted a light pink when the older man gave him a quick peck on the nose.  Farrier then pushed the box towards him. 

"Merry Christmas, love," Farrier murmured, watching as Collins turned over a bit more then, onto his stomach.

The blonde propped up on his elbows before bringing the box to himself with his fingers, raising an eyebrow at Farrier.  "What's this, then?" he asked.

Farrier shrugged.  "Just open it," he said, simply.

So Collins did so, with great curiosity.  He gasped softly when he saw what was inside—it was a watch made with pilots in mind.  Farrier smiled, watching the way Collins' expression lit up.  He leaned his head on his arm as he observed Collins run his thumb over the face and the band of it, and then move to place it on his wrist.  Collins admired the watch for a moment, and Farrier quietly watched the younger man do so, all the while admiring _him_. 

It wasn't a ring, but to them, it would be the equivalent of one.  Soon, Collins met Farrier's gaze and leaned forward, bridging what little gap there was between them.  They shared a kiss. 

Reading the man well, as always, Farrier answer Collins' questions before they could be asked.  "I promised to you this back when we weren't able to do anything more than what we did, about us.  During the War," he said softly.

Collins quirked a brow, mildly confused and not having caught up to Farrier's thought process yet.  "A _watch_...?" he asked incredulously, shaking his head.  "I don't think... _I don't recall_ you ever saying anything quite specific like _this_...?"

Farrier chuckled, and knocked their foreheads together affectionately.  "No, darling, you misunderstand..." he murmured softly, pecking the other man lightly against his forehead.  "There was no part about a watch."

Collins nodded.  "Right...there was only—"

"A promise that I'd _adore_ _you_ ," Farrier said, cutting Collins off and suddenly moving over the younger man, pinning the blonde playfully beneath him as he hovered his lips over the other man's.  "But you know I've always wanted to do so, so much more than that.  I wanted to _spoil you_...constantly, in fact.  This is only the beginning, my love."

"A-ah... _oh_..." Collins said, his face turning bright red. 

Farrier gave Collins a bit of a cheeky grin.  "How I love it when you say _that_."

"Say...say what?" Collins asked, blinking.

Farrier chuckled and gave the man a full on proper kiss then, smirking a bit when he'd pulled back from Collins, the younger man having been left a little breathless.  "The thousands of variations to your little saying of _'oh'_ ," Farrier teased.

Collins had rounded his lips, about to say another, when his sudden onset of self-consciousness—thanks to none other than Farrier of course, caused him to scrunch his nose.  Farrier laughed some more, nibbling a little bit at the younger man's chin.

"And that's a new one, I see," he said.

"W-what?!" Collins sputtered.  "I...I didn't even _say_ anything...!"

"Ah, but you _did_ ," Farrier teased, tapping at the blonde's lips lightly with a finger.  "Just wordlessly, this time."

Collins scowled, but he wasn't truly feeling irate.  "You're _impossible_...!" he complained.

"Am I?" Farrier asked, quirking a brow, feigning ignorance.

"You are!" Collins said, shaking his head.

Farrier laughed.  "Well then, allow me to beg for your forgiveness," he said as he went in for the attack, so to speak, of peppering butterfly kisses along the man's neck, to start.  "For being so _incorrigible_."

"Mm... _mm_...!  _Oh_...!" Collins moaned, unable to hold the sound back when Farrier began to start fondling him in his most sensitive areas.

Farrier buried his face against Collins' neck and laughed some more, unable to help himself.  "There he goes again...!" he said jovially, and laughing all the more still when Collins retaliated by flipping their positions and straddling on top of him.

Both men's eyes were darkening with lust at this point, and Farrier looked up towards Collins' eyes with his own half-lidded ones, sliding his hands up along the fronts of the younger man's thighs.  The older man licked his lips hungry, wanting now to be inside of Collins.

"Gon' a give me a show, then...?" he asked, slurring his words a bit.

Collins was a red hue once more.  It's the sole reason why Farrier couldn't stop teasing him, of course.  The man couldn't get enough of eliciting from the younger man his shy reactions.

" _Mm_ ," Collins replied, noncommittal, as he started lathering up a few of his fingers, face still quite red.

Farrier watched the blonde with his own lips slightly parted, aroused by the sensuality of it.  He reached for Collins' length, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from gleefully laughing at the way the blonde yipped and bucked into his hand, not having expected the suddenness of the stroking.  It made his own cock hard and jump at the sight of him.

"F-foul p-play," Collins mumbled, moaning as he was briefly distracted from preparing his hole for penetration and instead bent forward to grip at Farrier's shoulders, and allow himself to buck a few times into the older man's hand.  " _Nn_..."

Farrier raised an eyebrow.  "Are you complaining?" he asked.

"Y-yes...!" Collins said loudly at first, but then mumbled miserably.  "Mmm...I-I mean... _no_...n-no..."

Farrier laughed, and pulled his hand away.  Collins gasped, eyes going wide open for a second as he still nearly involuntarily bucked his hips a few times, grinding his hardened cock against Farrier's torso, rather turned on already.

"B-bastard..." Collins hissed, shaking his head disapprovingly.  " _Bastard_...!"

Farrier gave a small smiled.  "I'd like to be in you too, love," he murmured.  "Will you let me?"

The man didn't have to ask twice.  Collins shakily nodded, then brought his since dried fingers back to his mouth, to moisten them again, then he brought them down to his hole, to spread himself apart.

After a rather hearty round of fucking, they'd both laid down on their sides—Farrier was the big spoon, of course, and Collins was the little one.  The blonde's head was resting on top of Farrier's arm, and his back pressed against the older man's chest.  Farrier stared at where his fingers were at first, idly playing with the younger man's golden hair.  Then, he stared down at the backside of Collins' neck, and brought himself closer so he could press his lips to it, in a light kiss.

"I love you, my dove..." he whispered softly, earning himself a soft, contended sigh from the other man.

He smiled when Collins moved to turn around, and Farrier adjusted himself to allow the blonde to turn, and get settled in to now be facing him.  Looking up at his lover, Collins reached up tentatively to trail his fingertips lightly over the older man's lower lip.

"And I you, darling..." Collins said softly, hushed. 

They shared another soft kiss.  Both men also sharing the same thought, as they parted.

_"My heart."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo...for some reason, I thought this fic was going to take longer, but OH LOOK HERE WE ARE! Honestly, it was thanks to all your encouraging comments that inspired me to work quickly, so...TA DA!! Hope you all enjoyed~!


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